


Varda

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-07
Updated: 2006-07-07
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: Walter Skinner hires a beautiful male prostitute and loses his heart. Pre X Files





	Varda

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: For Linda and Maddie's birthdays  


* * *

Title: Varda

 

Author/Pseudonym: Ursula

 

Fandom: X Files

 

Pairing: Skinner/Krycek 

 

Rating: NC 17

 

Status: Finished 

 

Date Posted:

 

Archive: FHSA 

 

 

E-mail address for feedback: Fan4Richie or Ursula4X@aol.com

 

 

Classification: Pre X File

 

Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Stand Alone

 

Disclaimers: No profit, fan fiction for fun

 

 

Notes: For Maddie, belatedly, and for Linda, Amazon X on her birthday. Thank you very much for the powerful beta reading, Lorelie.

 

 

Warnings: Slash

 

 

Time Frame: Pre X Files

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What in the hell was he doing in Baghdad? Walter Skinner's opinion was that the only way he could have contributed to the President's security was to march him to the airport and send him home the instant he stepped off the plane.

 

However, this president wanted the publicity of visiting his soldiers. Thank God there were no incidents and the arrogant fool had gone home. Walter had no idea why he asked to stay, taking a few days of his vast accumulation of leave. Perhaps it was just a way to delay returning to Sharon, to her needs and desires, to their pattern of dramatic breakups and tepid reconciliations.

 

 

Bored, Walter left the air-conditioned hotel, making sure his gun was where he could reach it. He wasn't consciously looking for sex, but his footsteps led him to the sex district, through streets where soft spoken pimps whispered the allure of women with eyes like jet, breasts like ripe melons. Walter snorted and moved on.

 

The boy district distressed Walter. He wished he could buy the freedom of every child, educate them, and let them make their own choices. He could not. All he could do was brush the importuning hands away and walk faster.

 

There were fewer pimps and customers at the far end of the boy's district. Most of the local men preferred young boys, not the men who populated this area. Some of the male prostitutes here were still beautiful, but Walter could not bear the traces of desperation in their eyes. The sorrow and shame stung him. He shouldn't be here. His marriage to Sharon had not cured his desire. He loved her or, at least, had not fallen out of the habit of loving her, but he had never lusted for her. 

 

Walter could unleash his desires here far from home...as he had done in Vietnam. He could admit the craving that would have banned him from the football team, the boxing team, and all the sports he loved when he was a star at Whitmore High. That still posed hazards to his ambitions in the FBI.

 

When Walter woke in the field hospital, agony bursting over his body, he had bargained with God, begging to be allowed to walk again, to make love again. He had promised anything, but especially that he wouldn't sin again, never sin with a man.

 

Older now, Walter had listened quietly as a strange revolution spread across the country. His fellow FBI agents mocked the budding Gay Rights movement. Walter did not join the mocking comments. He had that much courage at least.

 

His life should have been wonderful. Several hugely successful operations had made him a highly respected agent. There were those who said 'Walter Skinner was going to be the youngest man to ever make Assistant Director.' He had a beautiful wife, a beautiful condominium, and a successful career. He had it all and it meant so little with the need raging through him. The deception with which he lived made a mockery of his apparent good fortune.

 

OooOooO

 

Abruptly, Walter turned, intending to go back to his hotel. He almost knocked the small man down. The hunchback had green eyes in a brown face. He grinned, showing a scattering of broken teeth that were nearly as dark as his face. He held a rose in his hand.

 

"What?" Walter said, suspecting he was being targeted by a clever pickpocket.

 

"I am Reza, keeper of Varda. This rose," the man whispered. "This rose not half so beautiful as my Varda."

 

"I'm not interested in a woman," Walter said.

 

"Varda is a man, a man more beautiful than any flower. Eyes like jewels, lips like cherry blossoms, skin soft over steel. He is a banquet for a discerning master such as yourself."

 

 

"And what might such a feast cost?" Walter asked.

 

"One hundred dinars for an hour, five hundred for a night," the pimp whispered.

 

"He values himself highly. For five dinar..."

 

"For five dinars, you will buy a moment in the sewer. For five hundred with my beautiful Varda, you taste paradise."

 

Walter's curiosity was piqued. He hesitated and then asked, "Your Varda is not a boy, is he? I do not care for boys."

 

 

"My rose is fully bloomed, perfect in his youth, but mature and lovely."

 

"I'll want to see him first," Walter said.

 

"You will think him worth any price."

 

OooOooO

 

The small house seemed hardly large enough to hold one room. The shaded doorway was surrounded by a garden. An iron gate set in aging, almost crumbling brick barred the way. The hunchback opened the gate with a flourish, bowing as he allowed Walter to walk into the courtyard.

 

The scent of roses was heady. Sunshine cascaded through the trellis that supported the climbing roses. A cinnamon tree towered in the center of the courtyard. Its heady odor mingled with the roses.

 

Reza locked the door behind them. "I take no chances with my treasure," he said.

 

Perhaps that explained why the outer gate was locked from the outside, but why the house was also locked begged explanation. 

 

"Come in," Reza said as the door swung open.

 

The inside was dusky, windows shuttered, no light shining except in one alcove. Walter's nose was filled with the perfume of cinnamon and roses. It was if the garden's scent was imbued into every furnishing and wall hanging.

 

At first Walter saw no one and then one hand moved gracefully into the light of the only lamp. Silver glinted on pale wrist, elegantly long fingers. Curls of intricate silver work graced the even more beautiful flesh. Green stones glittered. Walter stepped closer.

 

He saw.

 

Was this a man or was this a statue? If he was carved of marble, he was not Grecian; he was Roman. Varda was an athlete with strong bones, heavy muscle carving the male beauty that Walter craved. His skin looked silken, but Walter knew that there would be solid strength beneath.

 

The young man was clad in white linen trousers, the material nearly transparent. His sash was untied, the waistband draped low, exposing his well-shaped and jewel-adorned navel and the faint dusting of dark hair leading downward. His feet were bare, also ornamented by slave anklets. His chest was naked except for the silver chains that led from a jeweled collar to his pierced navel. His eyes were surrounded by kohl, but they hardly needed it, graced as they were with lashes so thick and long that Walter wondered if they were real.

 

Reza gestured with his hands, a jeweler displaying his wares. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful man? His price is no measure of the riches you may touch and taste. To possess such perfection will be a joy that you remember forever. To lie with him will make you a king."

 

"It will make you rich," Walter growled. Reaching for his wallet, he counted out a hundred dinars and said, "I'll be back with the rest."

 

It took most of the hour to race back to the hotel and to release nine hundred dinars from the manager's care.

 

"You found something worth buying."

 

"Yes," Walter said. "I may spend a night or two away. Don't be concerned."

 

"This is a dangerous place," the manager warned.

 

"I know," Walter said. "I've survived worse."

 

OooOooO

 

Reza squatted at the gate. His face, green eyes in contrast to his brown face, one side nearly as lovely as Varda's and the other, twisted in a perpetual grimace. 

 

"You're related to Varda," Walter said.

 

"The sons of the same father, jackal out of hell as he is," Reza said.

 

"And yet you sell him," Walter said.

 

"He means nothing to me," Reza said, "I do as I am told." Reza's eyes grew darker as he added, "as will he. Now."

 

What that 'now' meant Walter did not want to consider. He counted the nine hundred dinar into Reza's hands. 

 

"Two days," Reza said. "Two days you will forever remember. I shall be near at hand should you require anything. Otherwise, you will not know I am here."

 

 

Walter grimaced, but nodded and walked into the house. It did not seem that Varda had moved. When Walter stepped toward him, there was a ripple of sound as the jewelry that gilded the lily moved with Varda's lithe body. 

 

Rising from his alcove, Varda knelt at Walter's feet, his head bowed like a flower heavy with raindrops. Walter felt his body combust with desire. His. His! This lovely creature was his.

 

Reaching for Varda's hand, Walter brought him to his feet, holding onto him for a long moment as his eyes devoured his beauty.

 

As lovely as the silverwork was, Walter wanted to see the flesh beneath. Reaching for the clasp of the necklace, Walter's fingers shook. He took a deep breath, inhaling spices, rich perfume, and the more intoxicating scent of Varda himself. The silver was warm from Varda's skin. Walter fumbled as he struggled to unhook the long chain from the stud in Varda's navel. He laid the splendid ornaments aside on the table. Walter's roughened fingers brushed Varda's silken belly. He had to take a deep breath to keep from falling upon this lovely creature like a starving lion. Walter untied the sash of the linen pants. He tugged again and they fell to the floor.

 

Eyes turned down, Varda waited. Walter removed the rings that connected to the jade bracelet on Varda's right hand. Shortly, the identical finery from Varda's left hand joined its fellow.

 

Now Varda stood naked except for the anklets and toe rings. Walter knelt, taking a breath as he smelled the clean yet musky scent of Varda's groin. His cock was lovely, quiescent on shining reddish brown curls. Walter could not resist a kiss, not on the sensitive cock but on the curve of his pelvis. A faint hiss rewarded his boldness. So this was a man, not a beautiful statue.

 

Raising his knee, Walter guided Varda's foot to rest upon it, removing the rings and the anklet. When he looked up, he could see the faintly dusky lines of Varda's inner thighs. He wanted to taste them, to trace each muscle, to grasp them in his hands to part them for his thrusts.

 

Finished, Walter stood up. Varda had not yet said a word. Walter said, "My name is Walter."

 

"Walter," Varda said. His speech was without accent. He sounded American. 

 

"Where are you from, Varda?" Walter asked. A thought crossed his mind and he worried about how this American young man might have landed in his present predicament.

 

"Here, there, everywhere," Varda said.

 

"If you are being held prisoner, I can help," Walter said.

 

"You can't help," Varda said. "Take what you bought." Varda's eyes met Walter's. "Take me."

 

Varda's voice was smoke, as intoxicating as a fine brandy. Walter reached for Varda, taking him in his arms. Some part of him still wondered, but he could not believe that this spirited young man could be forced into anything. Varda unbuttoned Walter's shirt, tugging it from his arms as Walter kissed him breathlessly.

 

Freed from his pants, Walter let Varda tug him to the bed, toeing off his shoes as they walked the few steps. There was lubricant and condoms laid out, alongside toys Walter had no interest in using. All he wanted was to touch Varda, to kiss him, to come inside him, and to make him lose his air of aloof beauty.

 

On the bed, Walter pulled Varda closer. Varda came willingly, wrapping his arms around Walter. He kissed Walter's neck. His hands explored Walter's body as though he were the one who had purchased favors.

 

Walter might have believed these were all the tricks of a clever whore, except Varda's cock was hot and hard, pressed against Walter's erection. Walter stopped Varda as he kissed his way down his chest. Walter knew what he wanted, Varda on his back, Walter's hands banding his strong thighs. Walter bent down to take Varda's cock in his mouth.

 

 

Varda moaned softly as Walter's tongue probed the slit in his cock head. He arched up, his head resting on the mound of silk pillows to watch Walter suck him. "You paid to do this?"

 

It made Walter wince. He didn't want to think about paying. He wished this was what it felt like, an erotic tryst between two first time lovers.

 

As if reading Walter's mind, Varda said, "But I do want you. I want to be with you."

 

The husky voice sounded sincere. It might still be a whore's trick, but Walter could believe when he wanted to and he wanted to believe this was real.

 

OooOooO

 

Walter's tongue worked around Varda's cock, his saliva anointing the hard flesh. By Varda's response, it seemed as if Walter was the first to take the time to do this or perhaps he was merely the best. 

 

A soft, long moan shuddered through the room as Varda's legs opened even wider, his passion blooming like the rose for which he was named. The sound was sweet to Walter; whatever this started as, he wanted Varda to feel it. He would not be the only one to remember.

 

"I'm going to come," Varda said, his tone begging Walter to let him.

 

"Come," Walter tried to say, his mouth filled with Varda's erection. The vibration of his reply was enough to push Varda over the edge. The feel of that beautiful body dissolving in pleasure for him nearly finished Walter as well. He caught himself in time, closing his eyes, to wall away the vision of Varda's ecstatic face.

 

Rocking back, Walter warred with himself until discipline and reason prevailed. His erection jutted in front of him, pointing toward the object of his desire.

 

Reaching for the lube, Walter stroked Varda open, taking every care although he could tell his beloved was no virgin to this. Green eyes watched him, huge, devouring him, enticing him.

 

Gingerly, Walter sheathed himself in one of the condoms and then in Varda's body. Varda's legs draped over Walter's shoulders as Walter pushed into him, buried himself in Varda's beauty.

 

The world was pleasure, pressure, need. The silken clad cords of muscle in Varda's thighs urged Walter on. Soft grunts greeted each thrust, followed by a ripple of sound that was a cross between a whimper and a sigh. It urged Walter on, driving him nearer extinction, an explosion of pleasure that would immolate Walter.

 

 

Ah. Too soon. Never enough. Falling away from Varda, Walter had nothing left. Dimly he felt the condom removed and a cool cloth swiped swiftly over his groin. Varda's voice murmured, "Beautiful," to him. Varda's head rested against his sweating chest and Walter stroked tousled hair until he fell asleep, fingers still tangled in the thick locks.

 

OooOooO

 

Varda, naked, holding a silver tray, was the first thing Walter saw on waking. Sunlight trickled through a partially opened shutter. It gilded Varda's strong shoulders. Walter met Varda's green eyes which had grown otherworldly with the halo of light from the window. Walter sat up slowly as if afraid the perfect loveliness would disappear if he moved too quickly.

 

"Morning," Walter said.

 

"Nearly noon," Varda replied.

 

Walter swallowed; he had slept through hours when he might be making love to Varda.

 

"Is there a bathroom?" Walter said.

 

"Yes," Varda said. He stood up and put the tray aside on a low table. He pushed aside a curtain, revealing western plumbing. "They do not trust me outside so I have this luxury."

 

Nature's urges were too pressing to ask Varda any more questions. Those needs met, Walter decided to shower. He had barely turned the water on before Varda joined him, taking a sponge to wash Walter.

 

The plumbing was loud and Walter was sure it would cover any conversation. He whispered, "Are you sure you don't need help?"

 

"What I need and what is safe for you to offer are two different things," Varda said. "My father is a dangerous man."

 

"What kind of father would send his son to be a whore?"

 

"One that knows how to punish his son," Varda said. "But last night was not torture or humiliation. Last night was joy."

 

"I can get you out of here," Walter said.

 

"Don't try," Varda said. "My father's attention is deadly. Don't draw his wrath to you."

 

"I have resources," Walter said.

 

"All I ask from you is that you do as you did last night," Varda said. "In a few days, my father will send someone to bring me back, chastened."

 

"And what will become of you?" Walter asked. "What will he do to you next?"

 

"I don't know," Varda said. "Believe me that he could have done worse. You are kind, Walter, too kind a man to be given into my father's power."

 

"Varda," Walter begged. In this moment, he might have given up everything to steal this lovely creature away from his cage. 

 

Walter's words were swallowed in a fierce kiss, his cock cupped in Varda's exploring hand. He let himself be silenced. Perhaps he could make Varda love him enough to allow himself to be saved.

 

"We should eat and then make love," Varda said, leading Walter from the shower.

 

"I'm more hungry for you," Walter replied as Varda dried him.

 

"Both appetites shall be satisfied," Varda promised. 

 

Whatever Varda had been before this, he had grace and style. He fed Walter bits of fruit and cheese, served him honeyed pastry that Sharon would have thrown a fit to see him eat. Sharon always worried about Walter's weight. His father and oldest brother were a bit on the heavy side. Varda seemed to have no concern, but then he had a good appetite himself.

 

After setting the tray outside where Reza would attend to it, Varda returned to the bed, falling upon Walter with wild kisses, revealing his strength, his passion, his youthful delight in his healthy body.

 

Walter would have offered to allow Varda into his body as he only had allowed one lover to do, but Varda wanted something different, teasing Walter with his mouth until his cock was a steel rod. Then Varda mounted it, moving on Walter's erection as if it existed only for his pleasure. Walter steadied Varda when he leaned forward, watched the green eyes grow distant, his pleasure almost removed from Walter's own. Somehow that made it better, that it could be so good for Varda that he could ride the sensations into his dreams. Still Walter wanted to call him back, to see Varda acknowledge him. He changed the rhythm, letting the lovemaking become a contest between them until Varda's eyes looked into his, fire arcing between them. They were a creature born of pleasure, wed to each other. Coming was like being born back into separate bodies. Such pain, such pleasure, such sadness.

 

Like a fallen eagle, Varda fell backwards onto the bed. He turned to hide his beautiful face. Walter was breathless, boneless, but he found the strength to place his hand just above the sweet swell of Varda's soft round ass. His. His forever if he could only find a way.

 

OooOooO

 

Two nights, two days in paradise. Walter could have spent every penny he had to have more. Reza said, "No, our father feels that Varda bend his too proud neck to the halter now. You have had what few men will ever have had."

 

Reza looked scornful. "Men such as you, such as my father, why do you admire Varda's beauty? I am the greater son. My twisted back and twisted face can not change what I am."

 

Walter grimaced. It was not that Reza lacked beauty, even with one shoulder higher, one side of his face so like Varda's. His mouth turned perpetually in a crooked frown was so like the lips that Walter had joyously kissed. His left eye shuttered by a lid that permanently drooped was a verdantly green and lovely as his brother's. Walter said, "I could help you both. He's your brother. Does that mean nothing to you? Can you enjoy seeing what your father makes him do? Can you enjoy being the whip on your brother's back?"

 

"Come back at dawn tomorrow," Reza said, long eyes lashes veiling both eyes, even the one that closed crookedly. 

 

Smiling, Walter said, "You won't regret this. In America, I'll have you seen by the best doctors."

 

"And will they make me as beautiful as my brother?" Reza asked. "Will they make a man such as you fall in love with me in a single night?"

 

"I don't know," Walter replied helplessly. 

 

"We shall see," Reza said. "You must go now before my father's representative comes to see to Varda. Don't let yourself be seen. That could be the ruin of both my brother and me."

 

OooOooO

 

Walter could hardly wait until dawn. He was sleepless, making arrangements, using every connection to arrange for Varda and Reza to fly out of the country. Lies upon lies and none of his lies felt wrong since he made them to free the man he loved. 

 

When the sun was only beginning to rise, a faint rose tint to the sky's gray veil of night, Walter returned to the quarter where the brothers lived. He heard Reza's flute from inside the gate, an odd broken sound thin enough to be only heard because the turmoil of the city had not yet risen to drown it out.

 

"Reza? Reza, let me in," Walter said.

 

"Unlocked," Reza said.

 

Pushing open the gate, Walter saw the roses were ragged of bloom. Petals lay everywhere and Reza seemed yet another fallen flower as he sprawled against the cinnamon tree.

 

Reza's chestnut hair was dark with blood. As his hand lowered the flute, it dripped with blood. The door to the house hung open and the silk covers were on the floor, a peach colored spill of them half over the entry way.

 

Varda was gone. It looked as if he had fought. The furniture was overturned and there was blood on one plaster wall.

 

Returning to Reza, Walter brought him water he could not drink.

 

"What happened?" Walter asked.

 

"I did not know the garden had ears," Reza mumbled. "My father was not happy with me. He was done with me."

 

"And Varda?" Walter asked.

 

"Varda will pay dearly for his defiance."

 

"Where did they take him?" 

 

"Russia," Reza said, eyes fading. "His name is Alex. He was the kindest of my brothers to me."

 

"I'll get you to a hospital," Walter said, but the twisted body shuddered once as he picked Reza up. Blood ran ruby red to mingle with rose petals. He coughed and then was still save for one last rattle that Walter knew all too well.

 

Varda might as well have been whisked away on a flying carpet, carried away in the mouth of a dragon. No favor that Walter could call upon could tell him anything of Varda. 

 

The petals that Walter carried away faded, but the memory of Varda never would.

 

The end


End file.
